


Rho Squad

by gloamingchild



Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, mature rating because the clones say fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloamingchild/pseuds/gloamingchild
Summary: A squad of Republic Commandos banter their way through the Clone Wars.
Relationships: implied jedi/clone
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Rho Squad

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I wrote this in 2018. I am uploading old work to show my writing progress over time.

**_Shili, southwestern hemisphere_ **

**_21 BBY, 3 months post-Geonosis_ **

**_07:00 Local Time_ **

  
  


Shriekhawk clung tight to the gunship’s hanging straps. The floor lurched beneath his feet, and as much as he clenched his core for balance, he couldn’t stop himself from swaying. His squadmates struggled to remain upright, too. Cash leaned to compensate for a turn. Trip braced his free hand against the wall. Halle fared the worst--the weight of his rotary blaster cannon tipped him side to side, and he stepped back and forth to compensate.

“Of course the landing zone’s hot,” muttered Shriekhawk. “Of course it is.”

“And of course you’re complaining before we even hit the ground.” Trip scoffed. Shriekhawk could almost see the man’s eyes roll. “Geonosis was worse. Remember,  _ vod _ ? First deployment. Gunship lost a wing.”

“As if we could forget.” Shriekhawk scowled. “Damn it, Trip, if this ship loses a wing--”

An explosion rocked the vessel. Curses flooded Rho Squad’s channel. As Shriekhawk steadied himself, the pilot spoke up. “ _ Sorry, boys! The seppies have some serious turret installations. I can’t land-- _ ”

“Then don’t.” Cash spoke up, calm as a sky free of flak. Unfortunately for the clone troopers, the sky was  _ not _ free of flak.

“ _ Sergeant…? _ ”

“Get out of range and skim the ground. We’ll jump out and leg it to the outpost.”

“ _ Are you sure? We still have a chance to retrea-- _ ”

“We jump.”

“ _...yes, sergeant. _ ”

Cash’s helmet tipped towards his squad. “Any objections? Shriekhawk, maybe?”

The gunship shuddered, jerking back and forth. Muffled laserfire screeched outside of the closed doors. Sharp words rose to Shriekhawk’s lips--he knew Halle and Trip might side with him under these circumstances--but they died in his throat. “You’ve got balls of durasteel,” he grumbled instead.

“Alright! Listen up, Rho Squad!” Cash’s voice jumped in volume. “The GAR’s intel gave no indication of heavy artillery. Assume everything else is wrong too. We’ve gone in blind before, and we’ll go in blind now. One objective: seize the outpost. Eyes on the prize, boys.” Cash glanced between the soldiers surrounding him. “It’s a simple op. We didn’t survive Kamino and four deployments on Geonosis to die now. I’m not losing  _ vode _ today,  _ tayli’bac _ ?”

“Understood,” the commandos echoed.

“We’re a stubborn lot,” added Trip. “Some of us more than others.”

Shriekhawk scoffed.

“ _ I’m opening the doors,”  _ the pilot warned.  _ “Get ready! _ ”

The side doors of the laarty slid aside. The wind howled and grassy coastal bluffs whistled past. The gunship dropped low once it left the rocks behind and skimmed the fields.

Cash held up a closed fist. Hold. Hold. Open hand--now!

Their sergeant jumped out first. Shriekhawk tensed to follow but the ship lurched, and he staggered away from the door. Halle toppled out. Another lurch and Shriekhawk lost his footing--he fell backward, sliding pack-first out the opposite door.

“Fierfek--!”

The curse hardly left his mouth before he hit the dirt. The impact against the hard-packed earth left him dazed. He stared up at the soft lavender skies, world spinning, then forced his gaze to follow the path of the laarty. It whistled away, engine on fire. Moments later the gunship vanished into the cliff sides.

“Trip!” Cash shouted. “Trip, respond!”

Shriekhawk jolted upright and found only two of three Rhos standing on the bluff. Static hissed on the comm channel. He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around, but he found no sign of Trip.

“The ship lost a wing,” he said.

“Don’t start.”

Shriekhawk switched to infrared and scanned the area. Life forms would stand out against the cool morning, even those encased in katarn armor… but nothing appeared against the wash of yellow and oranges. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “I don’t think Trip made it out.”

“No. No way.” Halle stood at the edge of the hilltop, looking out towards the distant rocks. “Trip made it out. He did. He--”

“ _ Vod _ ,  _ udesii _ . Calm down.” Cash pointed toward the rocks. “Plume of smoke, twelve o’clock.” As he spoke, Shriekhawk shook his head and crunched away through the grass. “The gunship didn’t explode,” Cash continued. “If it had, we’d see a thicker cloud above the crash site. We would've hear it, too.”

“Yeah, well, smoke is smoke,” Shriekhawk muttered, drawing his DC-17m from its holster. “If we can see it, the separatists can see it.” Though jammers blocked their communications channel, he could still link up to Cash and Halle’s short-range comms and HUDs. The icons in his upper right field of vision showed his squadmates drawing their own blasters and following him. Trip’s, disturbingly enough, wouldn’t respond to any such link. Either he wasn’t conscious to accept it, or the helmet… and, thus, Trip’s skull… had not survived the crash.

“Form up.” Cash’s voice cut through his thoughts. “As you said, the seppies know we’re down a transport. Expect company.”

The Rhos headed down the hills. The coastal bluff ran parallel to the water, creating an abrupt division between emerald grass, black rock, and the glistening ocean down below. Shriekhawk searched those edges for threats and found none--besides, hostiles would arrive from the skies, carried to their location via dropships.

“Shriekhawk, your pulse is elevated,” Cash noted.

“Let your field medic worry about vitals.”

“Don’t tell me what to concern myself with,  _ vod _ .” Cash paused, then gave a heavy sigh. “We’ll find Trip.”

Shriekhawk ground his teeth. “We’ll find him, alright, but will we find him alive or dead? Dead. Command won’t care. A republic commando is a bigger loss than some, but they’ll replace him soon enough.”

Silence replied.

The Rhos followed the bluffs as they declined to the shore, internal comm still quiet besides the odd muffled sound. Black basalt pillars rose along dark dunes. The sand dirtied their boots much like on Geonosis, only this sand resembled ash rather than clay.

The mouth of a black and gray ravine opened up among the pillars, sun peeking out behind mountainous cliffs. A broken arch formed the entryway to the twisting corridors. Wind whistled through the structure, producing a high, keening pitch--it cut through the faint ambiance of nearby waves. Smoke curled from somewhere inside the rocky landscape.

“Of course the gunship crashed in the most inconvenient place possible,” Shriekhawk muttered. “For once, Trip didn’t follow your pre-battle pep talk. The poor  _ di'kut _ ’s dead.”

“I stand by what I said. The laarty didn’t blow up. Trip could be alive.” Cash paused, looking up at the arch as they passed beneath it. “Look,  _ vod _ , you can’t just say ‘of course’ whenever something  _ shabla  _ happens.”

“Can just.”

“Remember what Sergeant Tervho said about hindsight bias.” Cash cleared his throat. “If a warrior gets caught up believing they saw signs of failure all along, they never learn from their--”

“Enough already. I get it. Tervho was hot.”

“That’s not why I--” Cash let out a sharp sigh. Shriekhawk could imagine the scowl hidden behind his armor. His face screwed up in disgust when someone was right and he wished they weren’t. “I’m a sergeant,” said Cash, “And she was our sergeant. Of course I look up to her.”

Shriekhawk patted his shoulder. “And she was hot.”

“Fine. And she was hot. We can’t all be Vhonte Ter--”

A loud shriek of wind cut through the air. Shriekhawk startled, gripping his deece tighter. He eased the tension on his trigger--one slight squeeze and he’d betray their position. 

“The rocks are screaming,” said Halle.

“Don’t,” snapped Shriekhawk.

“They sound like a brother I happen to know.”

“Why the hell do you only open your mouth to mock me?”

“Easy target. Besides, if Trip’s really gone, I’ll… I’ll have to take his place.” Halle’s voice faltered, ruining his attempt at a jest.

Shriekhawk found he couldn’t retaliate. Any retorts died before he voiced them. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward, a command often given to him in verbatim by his sergeant. They needed to continue on, clinging to the hope they’d find Trip alive and well, foolish as the hope was…

Wind buffeted Rho Squad in erratic gusts. It whispered and screamed as they continued farther down the sheer ravine, sending shivers down Shriekhawk’s spine. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves--despite his helmet’s filtration system, the air smelled strongly of smoke. “Why crash here? The pilot could’ve aimed for the ocean,” Shriekhawk muttered, “You know, the gigantic body of water we landed next to?”

“I doubt our pilot could steer,” Cash replied. “Not with a starboard engine trailing flames like a comet.”

“Meteor.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Comet tails are dust and gas,” Halle murmured.

Cash groaned.

They approached a sharp corner and slowed, rounding it with blasters at the ready. They entered a wide chasm, and the smoke’s source came into view; past the haze laid the ruined gunship. Shriekhawk hesitated, almost afraid to approach the wreckage.

Their sergeant held no such reservations--at least outwardly. Cash strode forward to the doomed laarty, stepping over the flickering flames that licked at wreckage. “Trip?” he yelled. “Trip, sitrep!”

Shriekhawk sighed. After years of harsh training and months of back to back ops, they’d lost one of their brothers to a simple ship crash. Why hadn’t Trip jumped? Fallen? He’d never have an answer.

He approached the downed ship himself, watching Cash climb inside. The fire lapped at his boots, but their katarn armor protected them from the elements. The heat remained bearable. “Well?” he called. The inside of a laarty--a simple square--couldn’t hide a body. 

“He’s… not here.” Cash stepped out. “It’s empty.”

“What!?” Shriekhawk hurried over, but he too found nothing.

Nothing…?

He circled around to the front of the ship. The storage space for medical supplies and the like crackled with flames, metal panels twisted and blackened. At least his personal medkit sat snug inside his durasteel pack--no medic went without supplies of their own.

“Maybe he fell,” said Halle.

“Most likely. We’ll need a new gunship to search the terrain.”

Shriekhawk tuned them out best he could. A fall from that height would kill Trip. He didn’t care about no damn corpse--he cared about the man, alive and breathing.

He walked along the ship’s flank and towards the tail end. Oil dribbled onto grass, but the fire had yet to reach it. Still… he couldn’t see the interior. For all he knew, sparks would ignite gas at any given moment. “Sarge, Halle, back away.”

Cash jerked a thumb towards the next rocky corridor. “You’re backing away with us. We’ll continue on through there.”

“One tick.” The back looked alright, though the smashed in compartments wouldn’t open. The cannons and the front had taken the brunt of the damage--the ball turrets had blown off completely from the flanks, meaning the bodies of the gunners were part of the scattered wreckage. He craned his neck back, examining the broken canopies. “Someone give me a boost.”

“Shriekhawk. He’s not up there. Let’s go.”

Halle set aside his cannon and crouched down.

“Damn it, Halle, don’t help him. Get away from the gunship  _ now _ . That’s an order, you  _ di’kute _ !” Cash snapped. He strode forward to intercept them.

Shriekhawk stepped onto Halle’s hands. The man heaved him up, and he struggled for purchase. Sharp bits of transparisteel cut up his fingers and a shard stabbed deep into the fleshy part of his palm. “Fierfek,” he hissed, scooting away from the edge before Cash could grab him.

“Don’t make me come up there!”

He leaned over the cockpit, minding the jagged edges of the canopy. “You’re welcome to try, but you’ll slice up your hands. I’m a big boy, sarge. Get off my ass.” He eased off the pilot’s yellow-striped helmet.

“In a few seconds, your ass is grass.”

Shriekhawk set the helmet aside. The pilot’s lifeless eyes stared at nothing, blood staining his lips. A slash across the throat explained his death--broken glass and arteries didn’t mix.

He hesitated. A forward collision causing a horizontal gash?

“Could happen,” he muttered, yanking the glass shard out of his hand. He turned to leave, but he stopped, eying the bloody puncture.

“Shriekhawk.  _ Now _ .”

He took a closer look at the pilot’s throat. “Could happen,” he repeated. Still, Shriekhawk held out his other hand--a hidden blade unsheathed from his knuckle plate. He lined it up against the cut in his palm, then the slit in the pilot’s throat. The blade’s clean edge matched the pilot’s injury better than it did Shriekhawk’s.

“That’s it. Get down  _ now _ , you worthless  _ shabuir _ !”

“Just a tick!”

“You don’t have no damn ticks! The fire’s spreading!”

Shriekhawk scooted over to the secondary cockpit and discovered the same wound on the co-pilot. His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him after all.

“Damn it, Shriekhawk! Get the fuck down!”

He slid off the side of the gunship, landing hard with a grunt. “The crash didn’t kill our boys up top. Someone--or something--shattered the canopies and slit their throats. The seps beat us to the ship.”

Cash grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. Halle hurried to catch up. Only once they’d rounded a rock structure did Cash stop and speak. “You’re sure about that?”

“Pretty damn sure.”

His grip tightened. “I  _ cannot  _ lose another brother today. I don’t give a damn if it’s a two meter drop or twenty--I tell you to jump and you jump,  _ tayli’bac _ ?”

“Yessir. Sorry, sir.”

Cash let him go with a hard shove. “You  _ kriffing  _ idiot,” he seethed, turning away. After a long pause, he regained some semblance of calm. “We’ll assume Trip didn’t leave the crash site of his own volition.” He gestured at the next passage. “We’ll follow the ravine. It leads toward the separatist outpost. If the seps are bringing Trip there, they’ll use this route instead of doubling back.” So saying, he took off.

Shriekhawk tipped his helmet to Halle. Halle nodded back. After a beat, they followed Cash down the corridor.

The wind still whistled its eerie song, rising and falling as they progressed. Odd shadows fell across the twisting passageways--all of the crevasses and choke points made for a perfect ambush site. Shriekhawk turned on his tactical spot-lamp, sending beams into the myriad of clever hiding spots.

Nothing so far.

_ Shab _ , he hated that wind.

Cash halted and raised a fist. Shriekhawk and Halle stopped short, freezing in place. Their sergeant leaned around the tight corner, hands drifting to his dual blasters.

On Cash’s HUD icon, metal flashed beneath the sunlight. Shriekhawk squinted at the tiny frame. A group of droids dragged a limp captive through the ravine; white and brown armor stood out against black rock. “There’s Trip,” Cash murmured, voice quiet despite their helmets. “The hell are those things?”

“SBDs?” asked Halle.

“No. They’re somewhere between a super battle droid and a regular one.  _ Shab _ , look how they walk--it’s almost sentient.” Cash shook his head. “New models. Great.” He drew his blasters, and Shriekhawk followed suit. “I’ll go in first,” he said. “Once I have their attention, you two move in for an ambush. I’ll go for Trip.”

“No, sarge, let me.” Shriekhawk tapped the side of his single deece. “You lay down twice the cover fire. With you and Halle on crowd control, those fancy droids won’t stand a chance.”

“Whoever sees an opening first goes for it.”

“Yessir.”

“No crazy stunts.”

“Absolutely not, sir.”

Cash lifted a pistol skyward, then gestured forward. He darted around the corner and blasterfire echoed through the ravine.

Halle and his cannon scraped their way through the tight squeeze. Once the specialist freed himself, Shriekhawk slipped past, and they both opened fire. Halle’s rotary cannon whirred, spraying the droids with bolts. Shriekhawk homed in on the glowing marks Halle left across their chassis, blasting holes through their inner circuitry.

Despite their acrobatics, the fancy clankers struggled against the sheer volume of blasterfire. Those who rushed Rho Squad collapsed, smoking.

That left Trip unguarded.

Shriekhawk took off, colliding with Cash. “Fierf--I’ve got him! Let me get him!” He sprinted through the hail of red and blue, taking hostile and friendly hits before Halle could adjust for his impulsive charge. He gritted his teeth and pushed on to flank the droids, the rest of Rho Squad not far behind.

One droid fell back to intercept him. Shriekhawk missed his shot by a hair; the droid’s struck him in the gauntlet. His deece spun out of his spasming grip. “ _ Osik _ !” Shriekhawk rolled away and grabbed his discarded weapon, rising to a knee. He blasted up into the droid’s chin. The head went flying.

“Two o'clock!” Halle warned.

Reinforcements emerged from a side passage. Shriekhawk hissed more swears and crawled over to Trip’s prone body. “I’m here,  _ di’kut _ . I’m here.” He yanked off a glove and wedged his blood-smeared hand past Trip’s neck seals. A steady beat pulsed beneath his fingertips. “He’s alright. He’s fine.” He shrugged off his pack and rummaged inside, grimacing as his cuts and fresh bruises protested. “I’ll try to wake him up--”

“ _ Shriekhawk _ !” Cash yelled.

Piercing pain shot through his side once-twice-thrice. Shriekhawk wrenched around just as a vibroblade sliced through his neck seals. He lurched forward to grapple with his attacker’s metal limbs, but the droid yanked its arm free and rammed its blade up under his chestplate.

He gasped, recoiling. A moment too late, his attacker stumbled and fell, holes smoldering in it’s chassis.

Shriekhawk looked down at himself.

Blood. Bright blood.

It covered his bare hand. Spurted from his side. Gushed from his throat. Red splatters left their mark across his armor and his pack--Trip’s armor too.

Fuck.

He stared wide-eyed at Trip’s helmet, clutching the hilt protruding from his ribs. A shaky hand released the hilt to reach for his brother’s glowing visor, but he couldn’t quite reach it. His knees gave out and, slowly, suddenly, Shriekhawk hit the rock.

Someone shouted his name over the comlink.

Someones.

He fought to speak and-- coughing-- gasping-- mouth full of metal. Disgusting. Familiar. More shouts. Loud. Frantic.

Meaningless.

_ Ret’urcye mhi _ , he tried to say.

All he managed was a gurgle, blood wetting his lips.


End file.
